[ More pouting, more whining, but the moment he's given leave to touch his hands are in her hair. Curling around the shape of her skull, trailing nails along her scalp, almost reverent in how he combs his fingers through it. Not to guide, not to direct, not even to pull.
He may or may not have fantasized about something as small and simple and human as this for most of forever. Enough so that it doesn't really register that she's slipping further downward and what that means and-
no subject
He may or may not have fantasized about something as small and simple and human as this for most of forever. Enough so that it doesn't really register that she's slipping further downward and what that means and-
Well damn. ]
You are trying to kill me.